


Autumn

by orlesiantitans



Series: 100 Themes [7]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: The Calling, pre-Dragon Age: Origins - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 02:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5440172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orlesiantitans/pseuds/orlesiantitans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maric stands in the corner, watching them carefully. His face is cautious, guarded, but intrigued. He knows he is to have no real part in his son’s life, and Fiona knows it pains him. He’d asked her if she’d let him acknowledge the boy, his wife was two years in her grave and the people would likely understand if he claimed a fling with a servant girl. But she knows the pain the throne has caused him, lost love and the betrayal that came with being King. She doesn’t want that for her son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Autumn

_ Kingsway- 9:10 Dragon _

He’s beautiful. His hair is the colour of fresh wheat, messy across his forehead, his eyes the same as the rusted leaves outside. Redcliffe has always been beautiful at this time of year.

Maric stands in the corner, watching them carefully. His face is cautious, guarded, but intrigued. He knows he is to have no real part in his son’s life, and Fiona knows it pains him. He’d asked her if she’d let him acknowledge the boy, his wife was two years in her grave and the people would likely understand if he claimed a fling with a servant girl. But she knows the pain the throne has caused him, lost love and the betrayal that came with being King. She doesn’t want that for her son.

He moves across the room slowly, looking clumsy and awkward- a far cry from the confident and snarky King she knows. He gingerly sits down on the edge of the bed and reaches out his arms for the boy. She passes him over and Maric cradles him gently, looking so natural that her heart aches.

“Have you decided on a name?” he asks, and she watches tenderly as the child latches on to his finger, placing it in his mouth.

“Alistair. It means… defender,” she barely whispers.

Maric nods his approval, “It’s a good name. A strong name.”

They sit in a comfortable silence for a few moments, before the boy whimpers and lets out a squeal of frustration. In mild amusement, Fiona takes him back and allows him to latch onto her breast. His eyes close as he suckles quietly. Maric watches in fascination, folding his arms across his chest and getting up from his perch. He paces a few times before leaning against the wall, worrying his lip slightly. It is the same expression she’d seen on his face when she’d told him she was with child, and she turns his gaze back to Alistair.

“Are you still… certain you don’t wish for me to acknowledge him? I can give him a good life, Fiona, one better than him growing up knowing nothing else than being the King’s unwanted bastard,” he murmurs, and she looks up at him.

“And for what, Maric? For him to grow up in competition with Cailan, constantly looking over his shoulder for someone who wants to kill him? People only growing to care about him because he’s the King’s bastard?”

Maric flinches at that, hands going to clasp in front of him as his eyes turn to their son. His eyes cloud with tears and Fiona melts in sympathy, though her resolve remains steady.

“I just want to watch him grow up,” he whispers, and Fiona nods, looks down to the babe who stops suckling to get some sleep, and fixes up her robes again.

She waits a few seconds before replying, watching the little boy scrunch up his nose before closing his eyes.

“I do too, Maric. But we can’t, you know that. You’re the King and… the people would never truly accept him. And I’m a Mage, an elf, a Grey Warden. He doesn’t… he deserves better,” she whispers. And she hears a half-sob from the King, a vulnerability he shows to few, and shifts her son to one arm, reaching out a hand to take his.

She knows she can’t ever truly be with him, not the way she wants to be. She loves him more than she thought possible, and the tightening of his fingers around hers tells her everything she needs to know about how he feels, but the country would no faster accept an elven mage- let alone an _Orlesian_ elven mage- any faster than they’d accept her babe.

She’s taken from her thoughts by the sound of footsteps outside, and she pulls back her hand from Maric’s as if it shocked her. Eamon- Maric’s brother in law- appears in the doorway, wets his lips. He’s young, recently married, and she has her doubts about letting him care for her son. But Maric had told her all those months ago that he was a good man, that he’d care for the boy completely. She trusts Maric, if nothing else. He’s gone to all this effort to ensure she gave birth safely and discreetly, he’d ridden down from Denerim last week to make sure he could meet his son.

“I apologize for interrupting, but we have… an issue,” he tells them, and Fiona raises her eyebrows. Outside, a blonde girl yells, face red as she pounds her fists against the chest of one of the guards.

“I heard the King was here, I did! He’s the reason mother’s dead! I know he’s not dead, I know the babe’s alive! Took everything out of mother, the King’s bastard!” she yells, and Maric stands straighter, a frown creasing his brow.

“What is she _on about?_ ” he asks, and Eamon sighs.

“Her name is Goldanna. She believes that her mother had your child and is demanding to see you,” Eamon replies, and Maric rolls his eyes. Fiona knows he probably hears this a lot- probably had many women claiming to have his children, and it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to think this woman _had_ told Goldanna she was having the King’s child. Perhaps in the hope that if anything happened to her, Maric would take her in if he truly _believed_ these tall tales.

“Get rid of her. Give her…” Maric roots around in his pocket for a moment before passing a gold coin to Eamon. Fiona can see, through the door, the Arl passing the girl a coin.

The girl glares at him, but takes the coin, and turns on her heel. She mutters as she walks away, and Eamon sighs.

“That woman… she’s the one we’re going to tell your son is his mother. She died in childbirth last month. We were going to say it was just a woman from the village, but this was… an unexpected coincidence. Goldanna shall make it difficult, however. Should I…?”

Maric shakes his head, “No, Eamon. It’s alright. I doubt she’ll come back, anyway, and if she does, tell me and I’ll find her employment at the palace. If just to keep her quiet. Take care of my boy?”

He looks to Eamon, who offers him a nod and looks to Alistair. Maric, biting his lip, leans in and brushes a kiss to his forehead, pressing his forehead to the little boy’s.

“Goodbye Alistair. I’m sorry, but it’s for the best,” he whispers.

There’s silence in the room, but agreement.

It’s for the best.


End file.
